Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Swift
The clubhouse kitchen smelled like burnt coffee and whatever the hell Gramps had tried to cook last night.
It was just after nine, and the place was slowly waking up—boots thudding overhead, a door slamming somewhere down the hall, and someone coughing like they’d smoked a carton overnight.
Britta stood at the counter, staring at the coffeemaker like it had personally offended her. “I should have brought my coffeemaker,” she muttered, glaring at the pot like it might apologize. “Not my blow dryer.”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Priorities, sugar.”
Tempi snorted from the table, already on her phone. “I’m getting one delivered,” she said. “If we’re stuck here, I’m not drinking that sludge.” She started scrolling. “Walmart says an hour,” she added.
Britta threw her hands up. “Thank you, Jesus.”
I pushed off the counter and stepped over to the pot. “Looks fine to me.” I poured a cup and took a sip. I immediately regretted every decision that led me to that moment. “Great,” I wheezed.
Britta yanked the cup out of my hand. “You are such a liar.”
Twister walked in, already pulling Tempi into a kiss like he needed it to start his day. “You seen Wheels?” he asked, dropping into the chair beside her.
I shook my head.
“That inspector’s supposed to be here in an hour,” he muttered. “His ass better be ready.”
“He’s probably still sleeping,” I said. “I’ll go wake him up.”
“Britta!”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
So did Twister’s.
“Your brother is here!” Plug called.
Tempi lit up instantly. “Tyson!”
Britta turned to me, smiling softly. “I saw the note you left,” she said, stepping up on her toes to kiss me. “Thank you.”
I grunted, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “Go.”
She headed for the door with Tempi.
Twister glanced at me. “You good with this?”
I looked down at the coffee cup on the counter and pushed it aside. “He’s her brother,” I said. “He doesn’t have to like me.”
Twister smirked. “That mean you ruled him out?”
I shifted, getting a line of sight into the other room. Britta hugged Tyson, and he looked relieved.
“I guess we’ll see if anyone gets shot in the next five minutes,” I said.
Twister laughed under his breath. “You might want to figure your shit out with him.”
“I will,” I said.
Because I would for her.
They came into the kitchen a minute later. “Tyson’s staying for breakfast,” Tempi announced. She looked at Twister, then at me. “That okay?”
“Whatever you want, baby,” Twister said.
“Fine by me,” I added. I reached for the coffee pot. “Want some—”
“Swift,” Britta cut in, snatching it from me. “That is not for human consumption.”
Tyson huffed a quiet laugh as he sat across from Twister.
Tempi and Britta moved around the kitchen, pulling out eggs, bread, whatever they could find.
The place came alive.
Normal conversation.
Small laughs.
For a second, it almost felt like none of the shit outside those walls existed.
I stayed where I was.
Watching.
Tyson leaned back slightly in his chair. “What’s with the window?” he asked.
Twister shrugged. “We’re not exactly fitting into the neighborhood.”
“That why you’re all here?” Tyson asked.
“That and a few other things,” I said.
He nodded slowly. “Probably safer here,” he muttered.
That caught my attention. First time he’d agreed with me.
“I can keep an eye on Britta’s place,” he added. “Until she moves back.”
That was an olive branch, and I took it. “Appreciate it,” I said. “Hopefully won’t be long.”
Britta moved past me, and I caught her around the waist, pulling her into me to press a kiss to her lips. “Take it easy, sugar.”
“I’m fine,” she said, softer now. “Thank you… for being nice to Tyson.”
I’d burn the whole damn city down if it meant she kept looking at me like that. “Yeah,” I said. “Don’t get used to it.”
She laughed and finished helping Tempi serve up breakfast.
Wheels came down the stairs when we were about to start eating.
“About time,” Twister said. “Goldie’s gonna be here any minute.”
Wheels grabbed an energy drink. “Stressing, Prez?”
Twister glared. “Yeah.”
Wheels popped the top. “I got it.”
A knock hit the door. “There she is,” Wheels said, already moving.
We all bunched just enough to see Wheels open the door.
“Goldie?” he said.
She wasn’t what I expected. Not even close.
She had messy blonde hair piled into a bun, cutoff shorts, and a wrinkled T-shirt. She looked like she’d rolled out of bed and run here.
Her eyes were wild and scanning everything. They landed on me for a split second and then back to Wheels. She shoved a yellow envelope into his chest. “I have to get out of here,” she said. “And so do you.” She stepped back. “You all have to leave.”
Then she turned on her heel, and the first shot cracked through the air.
Everything exploded.
“Down!” I shouted, grabbing Britta and yanking her to the floor.
More shots.
Glass shattered somewhere behind us.
Twister flipped the table, dragging Tempi down with him.
We dove behind it.
I pulled my gun and peeked over the table.
Wheels was on the ground near the door, firing back.
“Fuck!” someone yelled from the stairs. In the distance, car wheels screeched, and horns honked.
More shots exploded into the clubhouse.
It was chaotic and terrifying.
I fired twice but didn’t know if I hit anything.
More car tires screeched.
Two more shots, and then silence.
Just like that, gone.
“Roll call!” Twister barked.
Names fired off.
One by one.
Everyone accounted for—
“Tyson!” Britta screamed.
I turned and saw he was clutching his arm.
“I'm fine,” he grunted.
I moved fast, pulling his hand away.
Just a graze. He was lucky as hell. “Keep pressure on it,” I said.
Britta dropped beside him, pressing down.
“You couldn’t be the only one in the family to get shot,” he joked.
I snorted. “Guess not.”
Wheels came over and handed Twister the envelope.
“I’m going after her.”
“Nugget!” Twister barked. “You’re with Wheels.”
Nugget was already moving and headed to the back door.
They tore out the back, and their bikes roared to life.
Gone.
“You think they’ll catch her?” I asked.
Twister shook his head. “No idea.”
Sirens wailed closer.
“I called for an ambulance,” Gramps said.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Tyson argued.
“Yes, you do,” Britta snapped.
Twister opened the envelope and flipped through a stack of papers.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Receipts,” he said. “A whole damn stack.”
“Means something,” I said. “She risked her life for it.”
He nodded. “I’m locking it up.” He jogged up the stairs, and not even a minute later, cops flooded in.
Tyson was the only one hit, and they quickly loaded him up on the stretcher. Britta tried to go with him, but Tyson shook his head. “No. You stay.”
She froze.
“I can’t protect you from a hospital bed,” he said. Then he looked at me. Really looked. “Stay with him.”
That was it.
That was the moment.
No more fight.
No more doubt.
He got it.
She nodded slowly.
The ambulance doors shut and pulled away.
I wrapped my arm around her.
“He’s gonna be okay, sugar.”
She leaned into me. “I know.” A pause. “I just wish it didn’t take him getting shot for you two to be nice to each other.”
I huffed a laugh. “It’s just a graze.”
She elbowed me.
I grinned.
We stood there for a second watching the street.
The aftermath.
“Well,” she said quietly, “that’s not how I expected our morning to go.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “me neither.” I pressed a kiss to her temple and held her a little tighter.
For a second, everything slowed. The sirens were gone. The shouting had died down. It was just us standing there in the middle of a mess that could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.
Britta shifted in my arms, her fingers curling into the front of my shirt like she needed something solid to hold onto. “What happens now?” she asked softly.
That question hung there between us because there wasn’t some easy answer I could hand her. No clean fix. No neat little plan that made all of this go away.
I exhaled slowly, tightening my arm around her. “I don’t know, sugar,” I said honestly.
Her grip tightened just a little.
“But I do know this,” I continued, tipping her chin up so I could see her eyes. “Whatever it is, we’re not facing it alone.”
Her brows pulled together slightly, like she needed me to keep going.
“We’ve got the club,” I said. “Twister. The guys. Everyone in that building… they’re in this just as deep as we are.” I brushed my thumb under her eye, catching the faintest hint of moisture before it could fall. “And me,” I added, quieter. “You’ve got me.”
Her breath hitched just enough for me to feel it.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “Not now. Not when shit’s hard. Not ever.”
Something in her expression shifted, like a piece of the fear loosened its grip.
She nodded once, slow. “Okay,” she whispered.
I leaned down and pressed another kiss to her forehead, letting it linger this time. “Okay,” I echoed.
Behind us, the clubhouse buzzed back to life—boots moving, voices rising, the guys already working the problem.
Because that’s what we did.
We didn’t run.
We didn’t fold.
We stood our ground and figured it out.
Together.
I kept my arm around her as we turned back toward the clubhouse, already knowing one thing for damn sure: The Ledger just took one step too far.
This wasn’t over.
Not even close.